Oedipus Rising
by Lila2
Summary: Sark has a Mommy Complex


Title: "Jocasta"  
  
Author: Lila  
  
Spoiler: Somewhere during Season One  
  
Rating: R  
  
Ship': Sarkneyish  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams and ABC  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Warning in advance: This one is dark and twisted and different than anything I've done before. Please let me know what you think because even I don't know what to make of it! Thanks for all your wonderful responses for my other work. The next chapter of "Elysium" will be up later this week. Enjoy!  
  
~ * ~  
  
He used to be afraid of the dark.  
  
Every night he'd lie in his bed, fingers clutching thick Russian wool, and wait for them. Shadows, monsters, ghosts. . .they were all the same to him. And they were always crouched in anticipation, watching, waiting for his guard to slip. He'd watch them creep across the walls, the ceiling, dark and sinister and watching, always watching. He could almost see their eyes, beady and yellow, like the monsters she'd tell him about before bed. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he didn't want to know about strange Russian creatures that stalked children in the night, but he couldn't. She said it was important to know his heritage, the history of the father he'd never met. But he knew her--and she was everything to him. Mother, father. . .she was his world. She was all he had, all he'd ever wanted, and he'd listen to her stories if it meant she'd keep him.  
  
And every night he'd wait for them to come and haunt his sleep. He could feel them inching across his blankets, running icy fingers though his hair, blowing a frosty breeze across his cheeks. . they chilled him to the bone. Yet, he waited for them, because they meant something to her, and because he loved her, they meant something to him.   
  
One night she caught him, shaking in his bed with the blankets pulled clear over his curls, and laughed softly in the moonlight. Only the day before she'd placed a revolver in his hand and taught him to take a life. . .and today he was frightened by a splash of darkness across his walls. She sat beside him, soothed sweaty curls off his brow with a gentle touch.   
  
"Shhh," she whispered in Russian. "It's going to be alright."   
  
His eyes were pools of liquid blue. "I can feel them," he whispered. "I can see them."   
  
She smiled at the irony of youth. "Come," she said and held out her hand. "You'll sleep with me tonight."   
  
He knew she'd protect him, make the shadows go away. So he placed his hand in hers, cool and soft and surprisingly strong; she'd been handling guns much longer than he. Together they padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It was warm and bright and there wasn't one shadow on the pale walls. They got in the bed together and she wrapped her arms around him, held him to her chest, and in her warm grasp he felt secure and safe, protected.   
  
"See," she whispered as his breathing calmed and heartbeat relaxed. "Didn't I make all the monsters go away?"  
  
He sneaked a peak over the covers, and for once not a single pair of yellow eyes watched him from the shadows. "They're all gone!"  
  
"I promised I'd make them disappear. Now sleep, darling. We have work to do tomorrow."   
  
He snuggled closer to her chest, tucked his face in the curve of her neck, but he couldn't sleep. He could feel her breath flutter across his cheeks, feel her chest rise and fall with each deep breath, but he never closed his eyes. It was too new, this feeling of security, and he was too excited to sleep. His eyes searched the room, the shadowless walls, the snow falling thickly from a winter sky, and the single picture bathed in shaft of moonlight.   
  
It was a girl, hardly older than himself, with two braided pigtails of deep, dark brown. She was beautiful, smiling, happy. . .he bet no shadows crept across her bedroom at night. Beside him Irina opened her eyes and the mask of sleep drifted from her expression. "Can't sleep, darling?"   
  
His cheeks flushed red, hot and tight, at being caught. "I'm too excited," he said, but she shifted and caught his gaze.  
  
"That's my daughter," she said. "Her name is Sydney."  
  
"She's pretty," he blurted out and blushed again.  
  
Irina laughed against his hair. "Yes, she is. She's your age you know. She would have been seven last month. Do you like her?"  
  
He didn't know what to say. He was too for young crushes, too young for the hopeless pull of first love, but old enough to recognize yearning. "I wish I could know her."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I think we could be friends." And then he remembered how he'd killed a man the day before. "Does she do what I do?" he asked.  
  
"No, darling. That's not her life."  
  
"She'd hate me wouldn't she?"  
  
It took her a moment to answer. "When she was four she thought there was a monster living under her bed. Every night I'd have to check every corner over her room, make sure all the monsters were gone--"  
  
"Like you did for me tonight?"  
  
"Yes, like I did for you tonight, and only when all the monsters were gone would she go to sleep. And for a long time it worked, but when she turned five a new monster moved under her bed."  
  
"So what did you do?"  
  
She laughed at the memory. "I put a picture, of her father and me, beside her bed. We were to be her protectors, guard her dreams. As long as that picture was there the monsters would stay away."  
  
"Will you be my protector?"   
  
She turned away from the picture and looked in his eyes. "I'm already Sydney's protector. I sent her monsters away." Tears sprung in his blue eyes, threatening to mar his angel's face. "Don't cry, darling," she whispered. "Sydney will be your protector. She'll guard your dreams, just like I did hers. Look at her and know she will keep you safe. All right?" He nodded stiffly, rested his head against her breasts. "Goodnight, my angel," she whispered. "Sweet dreams."  
  
He took one last glance at the picture, looked deep into the girl's deep, dark eyes, and finally closed his. And for the first time in months, he slept.  
  
~ * ~  
  
He could never sleep again without Sydney by his side. When he was twelve the picture was destroyed in a firebomb and they fled their chateau with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They stayed in a rundown hotel in Bucharest while they planned their revenge. The first night away the monsters returned, but this time they were different. Ghosts, spirits--the lives he stole came back to remind him of what he took. She told him it was normal, to feel guilt about playing God, deciding others' fate. "Give it time," she said. "It will go away and you'll sleep easy again."  
  
He tried for three nights before his tossing and turning drove her nuts. "Enough!" she cried and threw herself on top of him, pinned him to the mattress. "I can't sleep with all this moving around."  
  
He gazed at her defiantly. "You said they'd go away. Nothing's changed. They're still calling to me. The guilt still lingers."   
  
She grasped his chin in hers, forced him to look into her eyes. "Tomorrow we'll go to the market and get you something to help you sleep. We have work to do and you can't be exhausted if we want to get anything accomplished."   
  
He stared into her brown eyes, deep and dark and flashing in the dim light. His breath caught in his chest. She had Sydney's eyes, the same eyes as the girl she'd instructed to watch over his dreams. Maybe. . .just maybe she could make the nightmares stop. "What are you looking at?" she demanded and he realized he was staring.   
  
"You have Sydney's eyes," he whispered.   
  
She looked at him strangely. "She's my daughter. Of course we have the same eyes."  
  
"You told me she'd watch over my dreams, keep the monsters away. I can't sleep unless she's watching me."  
  
"The picture's gone, it was destroyed in the fire. I don't have another one for you."  
  
"I know, but could you. . .do you think you could just hold me for a while? Maybe that will help us sleep."  
  
She looked ready to try anything. "Okay. Just for a few minutes. Until you fall asleep."  
  
She slid off him and in the process her tank top slid up, the soft skin of her stomach sliding over his bare arm. A hot blush crept up his neck and he prayed all his blood would stay where it was supposed to. And when she wrapped her arms around his back, pressed his flat chest against her soft breast, he gave up hope. She laughed into the night, held him closer, and he tucked his face in the curve of her neck. Her hair was like silk against his cheeks and her skin was even softer. It was all he could do to contain a groan.   
  
"Sleep, darling, sleep," she whispered in his ear and he looked into her eyes, brown and gleaming. And for the first time in weeks, he slept.  
  
~ * ~  
  
He was sixteen the first time he felt a bullet slide through flesh and bone. There were in Bali and the mission went wrong. He heard the pop, the slice, the burn of the bullet coursing through his body. He thought he wasn't going to make it.   
  
He lay in a fever for nearly a week, haunted by his demons. They were more lifelike under the veil of fever and he could feel their hands wrap around his neck, trying to take back what he stole from them.   
  
The entire time she protected him. He remembered hazy visions of burning dark eyes, cool hands on his brow. "Sleep, my darling, sleep. I'll keep you safe."  
  
A she kept him safe, just like she promised.  
  
When it was over he watched her from behind hooded eyes. She was typing a mission plan to retrieve the data they'd lost in the ambush. She had a flesh wound to her left thigh; he'd nearly taken a bullet through the heart. "Thank you," he said and she glanced up in surprise, her glasses slipping down her nose.   
  
"For what?" she asked a bit breathlessly. Her little boy didn't look the way she remembered. His chest was padded with muscle, his arms roped with sinew and strength. If it wasn't for his angel's face she would have forgotten he was ever hers. Her breath hissed through parted lips and she turned quickly back to the computer.  
  
"For keeping me safe, the way you always do."  
  
She glanced up again. "You know it's Sydney who keeps you safe."  
  
"Through you," he murmured and bit his lip in contemplation.   
  
She put down the computer, checked the bandage on his chest. "You're doing well. A few more weeks rest and you should be completely recovered." She adjusted the sheets, fluffed his pillow a little. "I'll let you rest."  
  
He reached out and caught her hand, surprisingly strong from so many years of grasping a gun. "Stay, just for a little while."  
  
"You really need to rest--"  
  
"And I can tell you're worried about me," he said with a smirk. "I know you, so don't pretend it isn't true."  
  
She smiled. "You know me too well."  
  
"You're all I've ever had. How could I not?" He patted the mattress and watched her eagerly.  
  
"Just until you fall asleep." She kicked off her shoes, slid beside him, curled her back against his side.   
  
An hour later he was screaming, clutching at the bandage, kicking savagely at an unknown assailant. She shook him roughly and he grabbed her, rolling her into the mattress, believing she was his attacker. She fought back, pulled a wrist free, and slapped his angel's cheek. Finally, she found herself looking into eyes of pure blue.   
  
"I couldn't sleep," he whispered. "I thought--I thought it was happening again."  
  
She stroked his cheek, looked deeper into his eyes. "You're safe now. There's no one here but you and me."  
  
The room was quiet, humming with energy. Her eyes are practically burning in the moonlight, her lips quivering from their fight. The dim light softened the contours of her face, shadowed the angles of her cheeks, hid the fine lines stemming from her eyes. She looked about sixteen, same age as him. . .same as Sydney. Without thinking he bent his head and touched his lips to hers, drank her in, tasted her. . .and it was like peace. The fear, the guilt, it all disappeared when her mouth slanted over his. He groaned and wrapped his arms around her, groaning louder when her breasts pressed against his bare chest. And when she moaned he knew it was over.  
  
She pulled away and slid out from under him, touching her mouth with one hand. "Feel better?" she asked and he could do little more than nod his head. "I'm canceling your lessons for tomorrow."  
  
"What?" he managed to choke out. "I thought we have target practice."  
  
She straightened her hair, adjusted her clothes. "Your lessons, I'm canceling them tomorrow." She leaned down and pressed one last lingering kiss to his mouth. "I have a new curriculum to plan. Now sleep, darling. You're going to need your rest."   
  
She glanced back once more, just a flickering of her eyes over him, but that was all it took. He got all the sleep he needed.  
  
~ * ~  
  
It's nearly ten years later when he finally met her and that night he went home to her mother. Slid his hands over her skin and locked her legs around his waist, pressed heated kisses to every inch of her body. She cried out in his arms as he thumbed the scar on her thigh, a reminder of a gunfight in Bali, and exploded around him, silent cries rising against his neck. "Jack," her lips cried. "God, Jack." He came with her, but it wasn't her name on his lips either. "Sydney," he whispered into the firelight. "God, Sydney."  
  
Afterwards he lay with his face tucked in the curve of her neck, her hair caressing his cheeks. He turned his head, searched her face with his eyes, but hers were closed, the lashes dark smudges against her cheeks. He wanted to look into those eyes, feel the comfort the always gave him, but they remained mercilessly closed. So he rested his head again, warded off sleep and the nightmares to come, listened to the silent night.  
  
"She'll never love you," she finally said. "You know that, right?"  
  
His words were strained. "I know. He'll never forgive you."  
  
"You'll still never have her."   
  
"That's why I have you."   
  
"Because I remind you of her?"  
  
"Because you are her. You created her. You give me her."  
  
She struggled out of his arms, sat up quickly, and finally those dark eyes met his. "You don't think it's strange that you fuck me pretending I'm my daughter?"  
  
He met her challenge. "You don't think it's strange that you fuck me pretending I'm her father?"  
  
Her eyes lowered for a second. "So why are we here?"  
  
He stroked her chin. "Because we're all we have. We're all we've ever had. And you keep me safe."  
  
"I promised you I always would."  
  
He pressed her into the blankets, slid deep inside her, looked into her eyes. "And you always keep your promises."  
  
He isn't afraid of the dark anymore.   
  
~ * ~  
  
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